


Beard burn is the best kind of burn

by alphadick



Category: The Walking Dead & Related Fandoms, The Walking Dead (TV)
Genre: Alexandria Safe-Zone, M/M, PWP, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Porn with Feelings, rick's beard causes all of this
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-01-28
Updated: 2016-01-28
Packaged: 2018-05-16 18:51:03
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,214
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5836789
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/alphadick/pseuds/alphadick
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Daryl really doesn't want Rick to shave his beard.</p><p>or the fic where Daryl doesn't know how to express his feelings and instead decides to push Rick against a wall and seduce him instead.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Beard burn is the best kind of burn

**Author's Note:**

> Am I the only one who misses Rick's beard? He looks like such a baby now!!!
> 
> Anyway this was just my thoughts that Daryl would probably miss the beard burn as well as the fact that he thinks it's Rick's way of giving in to the new place if he does take a shower and shave his beard.

Daryl feels the words catch in his throat, trapped behind the squinty, wary, cautious exterior that he wraps around himself like a shield. He already feels his skin crawling as the gate slides shut behind them and they’re forced to give up their weapons. He’s toting around the opossum like some sort of safety blanket, the last thing from the outside. The walls make him itchy, just like the unknown, and he doesn’t want this place to end up like every other ‘safe haven’ they’ve been to. Daryl paces, can’t sit still, growls at almost everyone who crosses his path, and he swears to god if one more resident of Alexandria asks him how he’s doing he’s going to fucking lose it.

He catches Rick alone in the new house, checking the exits for probably the fifth time. He can’t believe this either, Daryl knows him. They’re in a house with running water, air, power, food, and Rick is still filthy as sin. They look quite the picture, hair greasy and mussed from days on the road, only washed from the recent downpour. Dirt covers their skin like war paint and Daryl almost doesn’t want to wash it off. It’s memories, stories from their time on the road. These people don’t understand their struggle or their pain.

Besides, bathing would mean he’s giving in, that he’s ‘trying’.

It’s the fifth time Rick strokes his beard that Daryl picks up on it. “You shavin’ it off?” Daryl’s voice is rough, quiet from where he’s leaning across the room.

“Huh? Oh…yeah, maybe,” Rick shifts his fingers through the curly tangle in thought. Daryl can’t quite help himself, shouldering his crossbow better before crossing the room to the man. He noses up the man’s neck, mouthing at the salty skin he finds there, teeth marking the skin it finds. Rick’s beard brushes his face, delightfully toying the line of scratchy and ticklish. He wants it, he wants beard burn in places that don’t see the sun, he wants it all over him right now.

Rick grabs the back of his neck, pulls him in so that their lips meld and Daryl feels the sweet scratch of scruff. They haven’t had the chance recently for their desires; Daryl can feel the heat rising under their skin, fingers dancing over flesh that hasn’t been worshipped in some time. Rick rubs his beard across Daryl’s jugular, nose dragging against the underside of his jaw and the hunter feels his knees go weak. String tight like a bow, seconds from snapping, and Daryl presses Rick into the wall. He wants to make him his, possess his everything and draw him back from the edge.

It’s inevitable, losing some of their sanity on the road. After the shit they’ve seen, it’s really not that unlikely. Rick’s been teetering so far on the edge he’s hanging over the cliff ready to drop any second. Daryl wants to catch him, right him back on his feet.

He bites the deputy’s neck instead, drawing a lustful groan from spit-slick lips.

_Don’t do it._

_Don’t do it._

_Don’t do it._

Daryl can’t say it, can’t seem to form the words because it isn’t his call. He tends to take a step back from anything that involves emotions or explanations. Daryl’s just trying to keep them alive. He throws himself into Rick harder, trying to burrow himself into the man’s body and stay there. They’re one, arms wrapped tightly around torsos, legs intertwined, lips melded.

Daryl’s skin feels heated wherever Rick’s beard has trailed; it goes down, Rick sinking to his knees like it’s nothing. They have hardwood under them, carpet, they have four walls and a roof and that’s all they need. Never needed more could always make do with less. Hell, the hunter’s used to sleeping on the forest floor, the trees more like home than an actual house ever has been.

Rick presses his shirt up, mouth exploring the cut of Daryl’s abs and his beard leaves a scratchy trail of heat. His hands scramble to open Daryl’s jeans and subsequently forcefully drags them down his legs to tangle around his ankles. Daryl needs the door frame he’s leaned against, his knees suddenly gone weak when Rick teases his mouth over the outside of Daryl’s briefs. The man’s sucking on the head of his dick through the thin, worn fabric, and the muffled heat is only a precursor to the main event.

Daryl’s eyes must have slipped closed for a second because next thing he knows Rick’s pushing a spit slick finger against his hole. Dixon fucking loves it, silently howls and curls over Rick’s kneeling frame. One finger isn’t enough though, Rick withdraws and pulls the briefs just enough out of the way—wrapped around his uppers calves—and goes back for more. The officer’s mouth makes contact with Daryl’s shaft the second two wet, spit slick fingers, breach his entrance. There’s a slight burn that stings for only a moment, the wet heat around his cock distracting him from anything but pure pleasure. Daryl lifting his one leg onto his tippy-toes, trying to give Rick more access inside of him, the man shifts and pegs the little bundle inside of him, which turns Daryl into a shivering, whimpering mess.

Rick’s rubbing his beard all over the inside of his thighs and sucking marks into the v of his hips. Daryl is the definition of debauched as he shivers against the wall, eyes glazed where they connect with the man below him. When he’d first met Rick he certainly hadn’t thought he’d wind up finger-fucked and sucked against a wall in their new ‘home’. With a thumb Daryl traces the bulge of Rick’s lips around his dick, admiring the red flush to the man’s face, arousal obvious in his eyes. 

He adds a third finger, stretching the hunter even wider and Daryl’s mind fuzzes out for a second. Daryl was supposed to be uncomfortable? Right? For the life of him his mind can’t grasp what he was so angry about.

Rick pops off his dick with a growl, something so feral it has the hair on the back of Daryl’s neck raising, but whether it’s from arousal or fear he’s not quite sure. “Get your fucking boots off,” he orders, and proceeds to pull his fingers out and start tugging at Daryl’s boots and jeans. Rick only succeeds in getting the boot off one foot and pulls the jeans and underwear off that one leg at least. The man pushes to standing, capturing Daryl in a quick, hard kiss, full of teeth. “Hike your leg up.” Rick doesn’t ask twice, just starts tugging on Daryl’s left thigh to pull it up around his hip and keep it there. He leverages his weight against Daryl and the wall and grins something predatory at him. “Spit,” Rick barks, hand outstretched for Daryl to do as he says.

He uses the fluid to stroke over his own hard prick, having been released from it’s linen confines while Daryl must have been struggling with his boots. Rick doesn’t really give warning, just lines up and pushes forward like he belongs there. His teeth come to rest over Daryl’s pulse point on his next and he bites down with just enough pressure that Daryl’s seeing stars. His cock pushes past the entrance, inch by inch sliding smoothly into the eager passage. Daryl can feel himself clenching every so often around the hard length pressed inside of him. God, he’s missed this, a feeling that you don’t quite realized you’ve missed until you haven’t had it for a while. It usually wasn’t safe enough for a quick fuck on the road. The walkers were everywhere these days.

But this. This is the shit that Daryl’s addicted to. Rick finally lets go of Daryl’s neck, pleased to find a blooming mark of blue and brown in his wake. He starts rubbing his beard up the side of the man’s neck, intent on leaving beard rash all over him he’s sure. 

“If I’d known you were this hot for my beard I wouldn’t have even thought of shaving it,” Rick growls into his ear, causing Daryl to whimper something unintelligible. It sets the man on fire it seems because he starts thrusting with earnest, dick sliding smoothly in and out of Daryl’s hot passage. He groaning into the curve of Daryl’s shoulder, the sounds coming out of him are something that Daryl remembers from the porn he used to watch before the world went to shit.

“Fuck—“ Daryl is able to gasp, shoving his mouth against the warm skin of Rick’s neck, trying to mold each other into one person. The officer’s thrusts are brutal, balls slapping against Daryl and adding a slight sting to the endless waves of pleasure. It grounds him, brings him back from the floaty other space he was living in. Daryl clenches on each down stroke, giving Rick a good squeeze and feeling the hitch in the man’s breath and the subsequent tingle of pleasure he must be giving the man.

“Jesus, you don’t even fucking know, you’re—jesus—fuck,” Rick’s rambling and that’s when Daryl knows he’s close. He reaches down to stroke his own hard shaft, leaving Rick to continue with his punishing thrusts. A few hard thrusts and the man is stilling in him, seed pumping deep into his passage, burning with its heat.

Daryl clamps down on him as his own orgasm peaks, breathe punched out of him to the point he can’t do much but struggle for breath, falling into Rick as he shivers out the last of his orgasm.

Rick’s got him, slowly thrusting while his dick softens and eventually slips out of his wet opening. Some cum drips out in its wake and Rick’s fingers trail down to plug the hole, much to Daryl’s pleasure and satisfaction. The fingers are just on the edge of too much, milking his abused prostate for all its worth and squeezing a few more spurts of cum from his spent dick.

“If yah want me to keep it yah just have tah ask,” Rick whispers, fingers still thrusting into his entrance. But this has always been the crux of the problem. Daryl just can’t say it. He’s not like that, but that’s fine, Rick knows. He pulls out finally, letting the cum drip unrestrained down Daryl’s sweaty thighs. It’s a debauched feeling, but Daryl’s always liked it, up until the point it dries and starts chaffing. 

Rick’s head inclines slightly, eyes narrowing before he’s reaching down to write Daryl’s clothing. In the after-glow Daryl’s movements are clumsy as he tries to help pull his underwear and pants up. Rick pulls back to put his own dick away right as the front door opens. They’re in the kitchen, away from prying eyes but Daryl can feel a little heat in his face. He just fucking lost it and jumped Rick’s bones like a horny teenager.

Michonne comes into the kitchen, Judith clutched to her side, and positively cheery. She’s taking this a lot better than the rest of them. Rick grins at her, taking his baby from her arms almost immediately. The look of pure pleasure as he nuzzles at his little girl’s nose to make her laugh, makes Daryl weak in the knees. 

Michonne’s giving him a look and Daryl suddenly realizes he must be covered in beard burn, his fingers come up to trace his neck and touch against the sensitive spots. Between his thighs he is just starting to get the good aching feeling. God he loves it.

He grimaces slightly and goes to skin the opossum for supper. Doesn’t trust these people’s food anyway, could be human meat for all he knows. It’s not outside the realm of possibilities yet.

||

It’s like a fucking peace offering, Rick’s silent apology for shaving off his beard, and he sits beside Daryl and eats the opossum with him while the rest of their family eats the new food. Rick’s gonna have a job, gonna be the town sheriff and that rubs Daryl the wrong way only because he’s never been right with the law. Not to say Rick’s gonna go all alpha male bullshit on him, but it just puts his hackles up none-the-less. He shaved, to look more presentable, and he washed off the caked layers of dirt and probably cum, which makes Daryl a weird mixture of remorseful and antagonistic. Like the man gave in and is accepting all this shit.

“S’not so bad, that shower’s a peace o’heaven, and I wouldn’t mind sharin’ it with yah,” Rick mumbles as he chews thoughtfully. Daryl’s looking at him from under the shag of his fringe.

Daryl grunts, the only response he’s willing to give because it still feels like giving in…but shower sex, damn that’s something Daryl remembers from before the world went to shit. Rick understands, he always fucking understands. His hand sneaks down to steal more opossum because none of them eat like civilized human beings anymore and that’s not something that’s going to change very quickly. Rick pecks him on the lips when he’s not expecting it in the least. 

“Good, yah startin’ to smell like roadkill.”


End file.
